


In The Wake of Tragedy

by AnonymousArchive



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awesome Facial Hair Bros, Character Death, Death, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Roller Coaster, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Tony Stark, I'm Sorry, IronStrange, Loss, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Not Happy, POV Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Is a Good Bro, Sadness, Stephen Strange Dies, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Tony-centric, Wakes & Funerals, but it gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 03:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19265347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousArchive/pseuds/AnonymousArchive
Summary: Losing Stephen was his worst nightmare, and to have it become real — it was the greatest pain he will ever endure.ORThe rollercoaster known as pain, grief, suffering, and loss.





	In The Wake of Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> Don't take the word ROLLERCOASTER in the summary lightly. This really is just one lengthy fic full of heavy angst (with a hopeful ending tho). You have been warned.
> 
> Also, character death. Except, not the canon kind. So, tables have turned. And this isn't set in the reality of Endgame because eh.
> 
> I do hope that despite all that, you stick around and read until the end.

He’s been gone for two weeks.

That’s fourteen days of Tony trying not to worry too much, working in his laboratory in the wee hours of the night just to keep himself distracted from the bubbling anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to seem overprotective over his lover, but this was the longest Stephen’s been gone doing hell-knows-what for the universe. To have no contact with the man, no reassurance of his safety, it made the days a whole lot harder to deal with.

Stephen warned him what this relationship — a romantic and serious relationship with the ever so busy Sorcerer Supreme — entailed. He told him about missions exactly like this, wherein he’d be gone for who-knows-how-long trying to stop threats that could send the whole world into damnation, and that Tony had no say in the matter of whether Stephen gets to go or not. 

He hated how he brushed that conversation aside at the time. He should have been more stubborn.

Still, he couldn’t deny that as heroes, the two of them would always have a foot in the ditch. And that no amount of protectiveness was going to take their relentless drive stemming from selflessness away. They both had a duty to protect countless and countless of people, saving them from threats that diplomacy couldn’t resolve. They had the capabilities — Tony with his suit and Stephen with his magic — and they knew that they needed to use it for the greater good.

Yet he couldn’t deny the urge to suit up and scavenge the world for any sign of the sorcerer. Had their roles been reversed anyway, Tony was sure Stephen would be going on a limb just to save his iron-clad ass.

He promised the man not to meddle, however. And he didn’t want to break that trust.

So he kept working and working and working, pouring his heart out on an abundance of pointless projects. He’d say he’d be wasting his time, exerting too much effort on unimportant tasks, but this routine was a tried-and-tested distraction that has never failed him before.

“Boss, the kid’s arrived for his tutoring session,” FRIDAY’s voice broke through the mundane noise of his equipment.

As if on cue, Peter’s words echoed towards Tony, along with the sound of footsteps making their way close. “Mr. Stark?” 

This, too, was a welcome distraction.

—•—

When he gets the call from Wong, he couldn’t help feel elated. Sure, he was a little disappointed, expecting Stephen to be the one ringing him, but he knew he shouldn’t be picky. Any form of contact from the Sanctum was enough for now, he had been deprived for almost a whole month after all. 

“Wong, my dear! I’m so glad to finally hear from you. I’m assuming Stephen is oka—”

“Tony,” the man cut him off, his tone uncharacteristically grim.

That one-word response was extremely unnerving, and Tony couldn’t stop his fear from escalating. Not only did Wong’s voice hold emotion, but he referred to the billionaire by first name — something he never does unless the situation was serious.

All the red flags were ticking off in his mind now. Something was  _ very  _ wrong, and he didn’t like that.

Tony tried to keep the atmosphere light, even if he felt himself growing dizzy with worry. “Now, what’s with the first names? Are you finally warming up to me?”

“I’m sorry,” Wong replies, completely ignoring the other man’s commentary.

He feels his heart sink, the unease creeping into his voice. “Sorry? What— No, why?”

“Stephen, he’s here but—”

“Is he badly injured? Do you need my help patching him up?” he butted in, desperation getting the better of him.

“No, Tony. I don’t think that’ll help—”

He was preparing to suit up, moving in a frantic rush. “Is it a coma? I know this has happened in the past. I wouldn’t mind watching hi—”

“He’s dead,” Wong bluntly said, taking all the breath from Tony’s lungs. “I… I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t find anything to say. The words just hung in the air like a heavy weight. 

“I tried everything I can,” the man on the phone kept going. “I tried every spell I knew, looked through every book I could find—”

“Bullshit,” Tony snapped as the pain came crashing down onto him. “There has to be a way, Wong. Look harder!”

“I’m really sorry,” he replied from the other end of the line, sounding defeated and hopeless. Two more emotions Tony never wanted to hear from Wong. “There’s nothing more I can do.”

A hundred stabs to the heart. That’s what this felt like.

Stephen’s gone. He’s really  _ gone _ .

“Come by when you’re ready,” Wong simply said before hanging up.

Tony thinks he’ll never be ready.

He hurls the phone across the room.

—•—

He comes after a few hours and at the most unconventional time ever, but it didn’t really matter. Wong accepted his presence and took him in anyway, looking stoic as ever. If Tony hadn’t known better, he would believe that this man was unaffected by the death of his fellow sorcerer. He was good at shielding his emotions, coming off as impassive.

Tony would ask for some tips, but this wasn't the time for that.

“I kept him in his room,” Wong simply said, moving aside to allow Tony into the Sanctum. 

He didn't bother replying, choosing instead to walk towards Stephen's location in silence. An extra pair of echoing footsteps were the only indicator that the other man was following him through the halls. He didn't pay much attention to it.

Instead, he thought about how funny it was that he already knew where to go, familiar with the path he was taking. He'd been here in the Sanctum plenty of times that it had become somewhat of a second home for him. Gone were the days when he'd be so lost trying to navigate through numerous rooms. 

Shame that this might just be the last time he ever comes by, given that the very reason for his visits was gone.

As soon as he was face to face with a very familiar door, he halted his footsteps, hesitant to proceed. Nervously, he fiddled with his fingers, before facing Wong and deciding to prolong the agony with conversation.

“There’s really no way of getting him back?” he asked quietly, grasping on the smallest sliver of hope.

The other sorcerer shook his head gloomily. “I’ve searched every dimension, looked for his astral projection, learned every spell on revival and cures, consulted every other master I could think to ask. His case is just too rare… or completely new, in fact. Point is, nothing worked.”

Tony nodded in acceptance, taking in the words in sorrow. He kept his eyes glued to his feet, shoes suddenly more interesting than anything in the world. Still, he kept the questions coming. “And how about science? Did you try using that for explanation?”

“Naturally,” Wong replied in his deadpan nature. “Checked his body for fatal injuries. Beyond minor scratches and bruising, there was no sign of something too deadly. This was a death by magic.”

“What was his mission?” he asked painfully, wanting to know the full truth. “What was so important that he had to shove his ass in whatever fucking dimension?”

Despite the bark in his words, the other master remained as impassive has he had been. “Dark dimension, yet again. Something about a relic he had to retrieve. He said he’d be fine facing Dormammu again so the masters let him go—”

“Clearly he wasn’t fine,” he said with fire again. It is only the sudden pleading look in Wong’s eyes that made him halt his hostility, remembering well that the sorcerer wasn’t the enemy here. In fact, the man was suffering just as much as he was, losing a very dear friend.

“Why didn’t the glowing green time machine work?” he tried again, tone more soft and gentle despite the stubborn words. “The eye of whats-his-name? Wasn’t that what he used to defeat this creep before?”

“I don’t have all the answers, Stark,” was the reply he got, Wong’s voice holding a slight tinge of exhaustion. If Tony wasn’t looking, it would’ve been easy to miss. “I don’t know what went wrong this time, but something must’ve if Stephen’s lifeless form just teleports itself—”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to push your buttons,” he cut him off upon seeing signs of desperation and helplessness creep into the conversation. 

“We’ll take care of it,” Wong speaks calmly, already ever so stoic. “This is not your problem anymore.”

“If you die too, Wong—”

The sorcerer wasn’t having any of the sentiment, choosing to look past Tony towards the door that loomed before them instead. “Another day, Stark. Remember why you’re here?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget,” he whispered back with a sigh, turning around yet again, fear almost tangible in the air.

There was just something entirely different with  _ hearing  _ that the person you love the most is dead from actually  _ seeing _ them dead. Before this, he was free to deny the news all he wants, categorizing it as just some cruel joke or a blatant lie. Now however, once he sees Stephen's still body, he'll know that he's really gone. Lifeless and unmoving, totally lost from the world.

He wasn't ready. He will never be ready.

“I-I can't do this, Wong. I can't,” he stammered.

“You have to eventually. You'll just be prolonging the inevitable if you don't do it now,” the man replied, tone holding an air of wisdom.

He let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah, okay, you're right.”

With hands gripping the knob tightly, he fought through all the doubt and hesitation, pushing the door open as slow as he could.

—•—

At the sight of Stephen, Tony felt all his energy drain from his body, as if it was his life that was taken away. Then again, wasn't that already the case?

Apart from the numerous scratches on his face, the sorcerer looks exactly the same. Like he was just sleeping peacefully in bed, lying on his back with his hands intertwined and on his abdomen. Yet there was no subtle rise of his chest, no slight twitching of his hands. He was eerily still, and this is what made Tony's heart ache the most.

“I'll give you a moment. If you need me, I'll be in the library,” Wong spoke, waking the shorter man from his trance, before walking away.

Tony waited until the receding footsteps were no longer heard, before he approached the bed.

He observed Stephen, taking in his appearance as if assessing the damage.  As far as he could tell, it was rather minimal. His blue robes we’re somewhat tattered and a whole lot grimy, yet they were still intact. The cloak’s presence was missing, although Tony figured the sentient red cloth was stowed away to rest for now (he would have to ask about that later, just to make sure). When it came to the injuries, there were small scratches and some hints of bruising on his face, neck, arms, and any inch of exposed skin, but nothing else. 

It was everything that Wong had already admitted to him earlier, which meant that the sorcerer really had likely died due to magical means. Tony felt helpless upon admitting that fact, because he knew he would never understand it.

That wasn't the point, however. Trying to wrap his head around the death wasn't going to undo it. Nothing was. This was all that was left — Stephen's lifeless and pale form.

Suddenly, staring at him became too much.

His whole body felt weak and faint, and he couldn't help it when his legs just gave up, sending him crashing onto the floor with a thud. Now on his knees, he felt himself lose all resolve, the storm of emotions crashing through and making him tremble. His sight was getting more and more blurry as the tears came flooding from his eyes, and he did his very best to choke in the sobs that were fighting their way out his mouth.

He just felt so broken. Not once in his whole life did he feel as shattered as he had now. Losing Stephen was his worst nightmare, and to have it become real — it was the greatest pain he will ever endure.

Slowly, his shaking hand made its way to Stephen's, resting on top of them. How funny it was that it was now  _ his _ hand that quivered, not the other way around.

Thickly, he whispered, "Y-You—"

He never finished the thought, unable to keep his sobs from coming out any longer.

He buried his head in the bedsheets, letting the warm tears drop onto the cold cloth. His hands gripped onto Stephen’s like his life depended on it, and he missed feeling them squeeze back like they used to. It was becoming more and more real, how much he’s lost — how much emptier his life was destined to be.

He knew he couldn’t blame Stephen for prioritizing the world over him, but for once, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted to steal his lover back from the clutches of death, even just to share one last moment. He’d trade any future just to get the goodbye, that last kiss. 

He promised he’d be back before he knew it. He promised everything was going to be okay.

“Fuck you, Stephen,” he croaked out brokenly, trying again to use his words, a slight tinge of hostility in his tone. “Fuck you for  _ dying  _ on me like that!”

That was all he could muster up however, as the tears consumed him again.

—•—

He hated the formalities of a funeral, but he knew people would be more worried if he didn’t show up. Most of their friends knew about their exclusive relationship, so it was natural that they’d drown him in sympathy first, above anyone else. In fact, the second they heard about the news from Wong (he was  _ extremely  _ grateful that the man was willing to be the spokesperson), his cell had been bombarded with endless calls — none of which he’s answered.

He knew it was coming from a place of genuine concern, yet he didn’t feel keen to talk to anyone about anything at the moment. He was still in a messy place, and he knew himself well enough to stay in solidarity until he’s stabilized his emotions enough not to throw a tantrum or do something rather stupid.

A funeral service however, was something he couldn’t sit out on.

So he was going to go, despite every inch of him craving not to. Running away from the truth wasn’t going to make living with it easier, anyway.

He found himself sighing as he put on his bowtie rather unamused, the black accessory officially completing his overall look in the black suit. Smoothing out the creases, he thinks that he could actually pass as attending a red carpet event. The bloodshot eyes and heavy bags underneath them however were a dead giveaway that his destination was a wake.

He was always saving this suit for a special day. Stephen’s funeral wasn’t exactly what he initially had in mind.

“FRIDAY, ring Happy up for me?” he ordered, feeling empty as he donned a pair of shades and prepared to step foot into the outside world again.

The man answered in two rings, voice ever so warm, “Tony, you finally called.”

“I need a ride. For old time’s sake,” he answered bluntly, not up for pleasantries at the moment.

“Of course.”

“I assume you know where?”

He did.

The ride was rather silent, and Tony just stared out the window for the most of it. Soft music played in the stereos, just to make the quiet less defeaning, and the billionaire was glad that his former bodyguard understood what exactly it was he needed right now — that being peace of mind, not conversation.

He would open up in his own time. The wounds were still pretty fresh, after all.

Soon (a bit too soon, Tony would argue), they reached their destination, which was a nondescript cemetery in the city. He didn’t know exactly what to think about it, probably because he was expecting something more grand — this was too ordinary for a spectacular man — but he didn’t bother making a snide comment about it.

If he actually had a say in anything, he was sure that he would have insisted for Stephen to not be dead at all. But life doesn’t work that way, and all he thinks to do is get on with this already.

“Tony,” Happy prompted him just as he clenched the door handle, ready to exit the car.

Looking back at his friend, who was wearing a rather sympathetic expression on his face, he replied with feigned nonchalance, “Yeah?”

“We’re all here for you, okay?”

He probably looked truly dead as he felt if Happy was saying soft words like that.

Tony pursed his lips, before nodding slightly. “I… I know.”

At that, they proceeded to the ceremony, following a stone path to where Wong promised Stephen’s coffin would be. 

Upon arriving at the scene, the billionaire was glad to see an abundance of people. To know that his sorcerer will be missed, it warmed his heart a slight bit from the pain. There were a couple of strangers dressed in dark robes — he assumed they were Mystic Arts folk — standing solemly around, heads all bowed in silence. Meanwhile, in the few seats that littered about sat familiar faces in outfits similar to his, watching the open coffin before them.

From the back, he couldn’t exactly see their frowns of grief. He’d prefer it to stay that way, unwilling to actually break down in front of so many people. Yet the moment he spotted an empty seat close to the coffin, he knew that they had (cruelly) saved it for him.

As if confirming his observations, Happy piped softly, “Go ahead.”

Tantalizingly slow, he took measured steps, trying his best to seem put together. Every time he passed by a row, he notes the subtle shift of gazes, eyes watching his every movement. Concerned, all of them were, and he knew — he just didn’t want to deal with all that right now.

The moment he’s sat, he leans back and just stares forward, not doing any thinking because his thoughts were a dangerous place right now.

“Mr. Stark…” a shaken voice murmurs from his right, and he doesn’t want to look, knowing well enough that he’d only be met by a shattered expression that will break his heart even more.

Instead, he looks down at his hands as he toys around with his handkerchief. “Yes, kid?”

“I… I… I…” 

God, he couldn’t even form coherent sentences.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he whispered, his voice betraying his deadpan expression. “It’s okay.”

The sniffling got a little louder, and Tony was really trying his best not to look at Peter.

“H-He… Dr. Strange, he’s… really… g-gone…”

Out of instinct, Tony enveloped Peter in a hug, unable to handle his sorrow any longer. He let the kid bury his head in his shoulders and sink into his arms, allowing him to let go of the dam completely like he had the night he came to the Sanctum after the call. 

He feels his own silent tears sneak their way past his eyes, but he didn’t bother wiping them away. He didn’t care to hide his grief anymore, just letting it quietly manifest itself on his crumbling face. He allowed the faintest sob to escape his lips as the smallest tremor of a quiver raced through his whole body. He allowed himself this mourning moment, hugging the kid he treated like a son for dear life.

They stayed like that for a long while, Peter’s sobs subsiding into hiccups eventually while Tony’s tears remained flowing. It is not until he feels a familiar soft embrace that he begins paying attention to his surroundings yet again.

“Sentient cape?” he whispered, looking at the ancient cloak around the duo.

Normally, the cloak would have retaliated at being called a cape, but today, the only reply he gets was a squeeze. 

He wasn’t complaining however. Something as small as that action made it known to him that just like everyone, the cloak was grieving. And of all people to confide in, it had chosen to approach Tony and Peter, as if they were its family. He smiled at the bittersweet thought — they could’ve been quite the family, huh?

“Tones,” he heard another familiar voice, yet again laced with a perfect blend of sadness and worry.

“Hey Rhodey,” he muttered quietly, sinking his head into Peter’s hair right after.

This — being surrounded by people who care at a time so crucial for him — was everything he didn’t think he needed. Yet now that he had it, he was going to indulge in it. He was going to mourn alongside everyone, sharing his pain with them.

What are funerals for, anyway?

—•—

There was always going to be something that reminded him of Stephen.

Whether it was the blue of the sky, the scent of tea, or a worn-out book with yellowed pages, it was clear that the sorcerer would always haunt his thoughts. The littlest details, supposedly meaningless and ordinary, somehow find the way to spark a distant memory. All the hardships, the quips, the battles, the fun, the smiles, the arguments, the intimacy, the  _ love  _ — one that would never cease, even until the end of time itself — would come to mind. And frankly, Tony was getting sick of the reminder of everything he had lost.

No more waiting for the characteristic orange glow of his portals or moving to his phone to call and check on his boyfriend’s state. No more dressing up for a casual date they had planned for the evening or cuddling in either of their beds when it was a slow work day. No more answering his sarcasm with playful banter or giving shameless compliments to each other on the battlefield. No more declarations of love. No more endless promises. No more blue eyes, easy smiles, comforting hands, endearing hugs.

No more Stephen Stange.

He felt angry at that. Betrayed, even. 

How could he just leave? How could he just  _ die  _ like that?

It took him all his strength not to hurl his mug of coffee towards the glass window. 

Coffee that he now had to make alone, in his lonely kitchen. Coffee that was never going to be the right kind of sweet, because only Stephen could make the perfect cup for him.

“I hate you,” he whispered to the air delicately, staring at his fist clenched tightly around the mug’s handle.

Stupid as it might’ve seemed, the billionaire paused to wait for an answer, as if the sorcerer could still reply from the afterlife. Maybe he’ll get a faint whisper back, or some sort of sign. Anything was what he wanted, really. He was still desperately holding onto a silver lining, after all. He was still worlds away from moving on, after all.

When all he gets was the dead and deafening silence, he finally throws the mug just to make a sound.

“Fucking fate,” he mutters to himself, voice cracking slightly due to the threat of tears. “Fucking universe.”

To distract himself, he moves to clean the shattered porcelain.

For a while, he finds his breath steadying itself, the task enough of a vice to hold onto in order to keep the dam of emotion stable. For a while, it was just him in his home cleaning up the broken pieces of one of his mugs. For a while, he felt like he could continue his day like normal, maybe working on anothe project in his lab or doing business crap for Stark Industries.

Yet his grief was like a virus, and soon his sight blurred from the tears just like it always would.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there, crouched on his kitchen floor, the onslaught of sorrow drowning him in sobs. He doesn’t know how long it takes before Pepper finds him, probably dropping by to inform him about some appointments but instead finding him so distraught that she eventually shifts from secretary to friend, attempting to free him from his stupor with her compassion and concern. He doesn’t know how long she tries despite how fruitless the endeavor was, or when she stopped trying altogether.

All he knows is that everything still hurts like the first time he heard the news.

And that maybe, it’ll never really stop hurting no matter how much time has passed. 

“Mr. Stark, hey,” a familiar warm voice eventually coaxed him out, the sound a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

He finds his breath steadying enough, allowing him to blink back his tears to look at his unexpected but appreciated company of three, their faces all covered in expressions of worry.

“Thank God you’ve finally looked up,” Pepper commented in a soft voice, her concern easing a slight bit. “I’ve been trying for so long to calm you down.”

“T-Thanks,” he started with a gravelly voice, which prompted him to clear his throat before resuming to speak. “Uh… yeah, thanks for that…”

“Of course, Tony. You don’t need to thank me for that.”

He gave her a tense nod of acknowledgement, before shifting his gaze to the other two who had seemed to join them on the floor. “Why are you both here?”

Rhodey took the lead and answered, “Pepper called me up and told me about your episode. I picked Peter up after that. Knew the kid would probably catch your attention.”

“How are you feeling, Mr. Stark?” said kid then piped. “What do you need?”

He merely blinked at his protege, staring into the teen’s expressive eyes that at the moment held a mixture of sadness and worry. Whatever words he should’ve and could’ve said died right on the tip of his tongue.

At that silence, the colonel remarked with genuine concern, “We’re here for you, Tony, okay? We’re always here when you need us. Just communicate with us so we know what to do.”

He nodded in understanding, trying his best to muster up a smile to show he was grateful. “O-Okay, yeah. You’re right. Thanks.”

“You haven’t answered Parker’s question, Tones.”

He sighed, wiping a hand on his face to rid of tears that could still be there. 

The easy answer would’ve been to lie, say he was fine and that the weeping mess was a result of stress or some dumb as shit reason, but he knew he couldn’t do that. Trying to act like everything was fine when it wasn’t, especially to people who’d see right through his lies, was not the right thing to do if he wanted to be better.

He needed to try, as hard as it was, to vocalize his pain. To be vulnerable to them, as he used to be with Stephen, because they cared enough not to judge.

When he found his voice, he chose to say the truth, “I feel like shit, which is normal, except today it’s because of Stephen again. Honestly, for the past… days? weeks? months? I don’t know how long it’s been but… it’s always been because of him. I could be doing anything, from saving the world to sitting through a meeting, and the memory of him would just… find its way into my mind. And everytime, I’d… I’d break, like what you saw. Because even after all that time, it still hurts.”

“Mr. Stark—” Peter cut in sadly when his mentor paused, but he was stopped before he could continue.

“I’m not done, kid,” the man smiled in a bittersweet way, voice shaky at this point. That fact didn’t make him stop, though. He just couldn’t stop now. “In regards to what I need, I think all I need is… is him back. To have him in my life again, as alive and happy as he is — no,  _ was  _ with me. But... we all clearly know that that isn’t possible, so yeah… I don’t know.”

He ended on that, a hopeless sigh leaving his mouth after as he stared at his hands, noting some minimal cuts from the broken mug’s pieces he had tried to clean up earlier. He refused to meet their eyes after his little monologue, feeling his own sadness radiating at the verbal admittance of his pain, but when he gets no response from his friends, it feels as though he had no choice.

To be met with their equally pained expression, his words seeming to sadden the group and remind them of their own grief for the lost sorcerer, he suddenly feels guilty for speaking so much. 

“Sorry…” he said quietly, ending the silence that ensued. “I know I’m not the only one who lost him, but it just hurts in waves.”

“It’s okay, Tony,” Pepper reassured him, masking her sadness to prioritize him instead. “We know how much you two loved each other.”

“And Doctor Strange was a great guy,” Peter added in, voice solemn. “I… I wish he wasn’t gone so soon.” 

“Me too, kiddo,” was his reply, keeping his voice as steady as he could get it while he spoke. “Me too.”

“Maybe… what you need now is a pick-me-up,” Pepper then suggested lightly. “Grief isn’t something that could instantly be wiped away, after all. Maybe you just need something to pull you out of it for now.”

“That’s an idea,” Rhodey nodded to the proposition, thinking for a moment before adding in his own prompt to the plan. “Hey, why don’t we all watch a feel good movie to lighten the mood? Then, as soon as it finishes, we tuck you to bed so you can feel better in the morning?”

Before the billionaire could even accept or refuse, the teenager beamed. “Oh, yeah! That’s a great idea, Mr. Rhodes. And I know a couple of films you guys probably haven’t seen. This will be fun!”

“I guess that settles it,” Pepper concluded with a smile, standing up from her seated position on the ground. The other two followed suit.

Rhodey then reached out his hand towards Tony. “Now, let’s get you up and away from that floor, yeah?”

He took it with gratitude, hoisting himself up.

He knew the movies weren’t going to ease the pain the slightest, but to be surrounded by wonderful company when he needs it the most — he honestly felt okay to be proven wrong.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve them.

But that night, he didn’t bother to ask.

—•—

Maybe he was never meant to forget Stephen Strange.

Maybe he’ll carry his lover’s ghost in his heart for as long as he lived. Maybe he’d still scream into the silence waiting for a reply that was never going to come. Maybe he’d still shed rivers of tears at happy memories and a lost future. Maybe he’ll never truly let him go, along with the hurt the loss has brought.

But he was smiling again — genuine, full, real, and bright. One that was actually  _ happy _ , despite skeletons of ache in his closet.

He was also shattering less of his kitchenware, having less breakdowns and episodes, making more snarky jokes and jabs like he used to, and laughing more like he used to. He was going out of his home and workshop more often, actually attending galas and functions he’s invited to, pouring more of his time and effort into meaningful projects, and defeating threats to the world with a renewed determination he had lost in his sadness.

He was confiding in the people he trusted, allowing them to see his pain and calm it, and giving them access to these parts of himself which he would’ve denied in the past. He was talking about his favorite sorcerer more now, smiling at the bittersweet accounts being told to him about the man, indulging in hugs with the one’s he’d left behind, and sharing this grief which he carried alone for so long.

He was trying — with every fiber of his being — to get better.

And admittedly, he  _ is  _ getting better. A slow process, but progress nevertheless. 

After wallowing in his grief and mourning for so  _ so  _ long, he finally remembered what it was like to feel  _ okay _ . Not guilty, not hurt, not angry, not pained. Just… okay. It was a peace he didn’t think he’d ever find, but here it was in all it’s glory, manifesting itself in the form of  _ acceptance _ .

Because finally, he accepted the fact that that  _ this  _ was his life from here on out — a life without the one person that he loved and still loves more than anything. That didn’t mean eternal sadness until death knocked at his door, nor did it mean days filled with nothing but regrets caused by the endless what-ifs. Instead, it meant acknowledging that he was gone, that looking back was never going to bring him back, and still being okay with that. 

Still finding a reason to live, to keep going, even without him around anymore.

Stephen promised him that last time they spoke that everything was going to be okay. And Tony felt betrayed when it wasn’t, when he left the land of the living and died due to reasons he will never fathom. 

But now, thinking back, it was safe to say that he had a change of heart. Because maybe that promise was kept, after all.

Maybe everything was going to be okay, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So, as stated in the tags, this is not beta read. So sorry if it's a bit lackluster or whatever, especially nearing the end. I kind of didn't know how to wrap it up, and it was already getting so lengthy, so that's just... well, that. Sorry for typos and grammatical errors as well.
> 
> Anyway, I did pour my heart into writing this so I hope you leave a kudos and a comment. Those really brighten up my day. Heck, maybe bookmark it too and share with your friends? (Please I'm desperate.)
> 
> Also, I'm sorry (as stated in the tags). I felt very angsty when I started this fic and so it's just full of that. I hope you liked it nevertheless.
> 
> If y'all want lighthearted stuff, maybe check my other fics? I have a couple about the same dynamic of IronStrange heh (shameless self promo ik but I need it lmao).


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